I ask the waiter to refill my glass again while waiting for Beau to arrive at the restaurant. It's been 30 minutes since I got here and no trace of Beau yet. I'm starting to think he's not coming, but I also don't think he would pass up the opportunity to have dinner with me. I'm confident that my threat will work, and Beau will back off because of where I'm from. I was born and spent some of my youth in Nigeria. His mother always hated me because of the color of my skin and didn't try to hide it. She looks down on Africans. If the bitch had her way, Africans would still be her slaves.
I watch as the clock in the restaurant strikes nine o'clock, which means an hour has passed and still no sign of Beau. I can't believe he's standing me up.
"Ma'am, would you like to order now?" The waiter asks for—if I'm not wrong—the tenth time tonight.
"No, but I would like a bottle of whatever you have been filling my glass with."
"Alright, ma'am."
The anger I'm feeling is all consuming, the best thing I can do at this point is try to drown it out by drinking. I know it's not the best solution, but I already feel a little tipsy, so it won't hurt to get thoroughly drunk.
I can't believe Beau stood me up. I know he's an asshole, but I don't remember him as the kind of person to do something like this. The worst part is I don't even have his number, so I can't call him. I had asked my secretary to set up the meeting earlier today.
The more I sit here and think about why Beau didn't show tonight, the more memories of us start to appear in my mind. This makes me even angrier and want to drink more—so I can forget those memories. They're built on lies, and they only make me sad, or worse—they make me feel like the stupidest woman on this Earth for loving someone like him. It makes me so angry that even after the seven years I've had to get over him, the seven good years, thinking about the time we had together still makes me tear up. I quickly wipe the teardrops that escape my eyes, pick up the wine glass, and drown it in one go.
I might have been young then, but I know what I felt for Beau was real. All he felt was nothing. Beau never loved me back, and he ensured I would never forget it, no matter how many years passed. I hate you, Beau. I hate you, Beau Williams. You are an asshole.
"Ma'am, would you like me to hail a cab or call someone to pick you up?" The waiter asks, interrupting my thoughts.
"I hate you, Beau Williams. I hate you, Beau Williams." My eyes start to feel heavy. I'm so sleepy.
"Ma'am, please don't fall asleep. Please don't fall asleep!" The person talking to me sounds like they're panicking about something. I wonder what. But I'm too drunk to understand what he's saying.
"I feel so sleepy," I say to the stranger in front of me. "Let me rest my eyes for a little while, just a little while." My eyes drift closed as my head drops onto the table.
BEAU
My phone rings, drawing my attention away from the papers I'd been working on all night. I ignore it like I've been doing with all the calls I've been getting tonight and continue to focus on the papers in front of me. Once it rings for the fifth time, I have no choice but to answer. Without caring to check the caller ID, I place the phone to my ear and answer the caller in an annoyed tone.
YOU ARE READING
Rekindling Old Flames (BWWM)
Romance"I need to teach you a lesson for defying me," Beau says, and in an instant, my leg on his thigh drops down beside his. He puts his other hand on my waist and lifts me off my chair. I land perfectly on him, and my eyes widen once I feel him against...
